


Rogue

by muffin_song



Category: Groundhog Day - Minchin/Rubin
Genre: Gen, Groundhog Day Fan Week 2017, Mostly Fluff, With a little bit of Phil slowly learning hubris, canon typical language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 13:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muffin_song/pseuds/muffin_song
Summary: Phil vs. Mrs. Lancaster's Coffee Machine.  Fluff, with a tiny bit of growing better thrown in there for good measure.





	Rogue

**Author's Note:**

> For Groundhog Day Fan Week 2017, Day 3. ("Between Philandering and Philanthropy there were years that we never got to see. When did Phil find time to learn everything about everyone or learn how to deliver a baby? Or you could take this in a completely…well…different direction."

It's not that Phil didn't know _how_ to get a good cup of coffee in Punxsutawney.  Sure, the obvious avenues didn't yield much on first try.  Mrs. Lancaster's coffee machine was permanently in rogue mode, and Doris's coffee making skills left something to be desired.

No, the secret to a good cup of coffee in Punxsutawney on February 2nd was cornering Steve Jindal.  (Phil had long ago dropped the monikers of “Marching Band Cymbals Guy” and “Not Larry’s Double”).  If Phil could find a way to Steve’s breakfast table, he was the guaranteed recipient of a home-brewed espresso so good Phil nearly wept the first time he drank it.  (But to be honest, Steve was actually decent company even without the coffee.  Particularly if you got him started talking about how drummers always get shit).

The thing was that like most people, Phil liked his conveniences - his “unusual” situation didn’t change that.  Which meant he didn’t want a multi-hour detour _every day_ just to get a well-brewed cup of coffee.  And no matter how he tried to spin it, being at Gobbler’s Knob at 6:30 in the morning was just not pleasant without caffeine.  (Phil had long ago given up on regret for anything he’d done before February 2nd.  He knew he still had a karmic balance due, but he could no more go back in time than he could go forward.  But Jesus fucking Christ, if he could send a message to his past self and convince him just to go to bed a few hours earlier…)

Well-rested or not, Phil didn’t have the heart to play hooky these days, however tempting.  The problem with letting Rita in on his secret (no matter how short-lived her retention of that knowledge) was that now he felt _bad_ about being a no-show for the broadcast.  Rita always looked so...panicked whenever she found him at the diner afterwards.  

Phil really, _really_  hated being the cause of that.  

(He no longer knew what kind of person Punxsutawney was making of him.  Probably the kind of guy he would have mocked before he came here.  It didn’t really matter.  The Phil of February 2nd had long ago accepted that he was just along for the ride).

It all meant that Phil needed to actually go to his job on a daily, never-ending basis.  And he really, _really_  wanted decent caffeine.  

Surely the universe couldn’t deny him that much.

“Oh, Mr. Connors!” greeted Mrs. Lancaster.  “Looks like a storm’s coming, don’t you think?”

“You don’t say,” Phil replied automatically.  

He coasted through the usual motions, performing the chatter with the same attention one would regard the view outside their house every morning.  The Clevelands entered.  Opportunity arose. 

A few moments later and some well-rehearsed choreography later, Phil had his target secured safely back in his room.  He considered the orange and black contraption.  For something so simple, it had certainly caused him a lot of pain.  

“Okay, Mr. Coffee, it’s you and me.”  Phil’s grin was full of menace.  “And I have a very, _very_ long time.”

 

* * *

 

One of Phil’s small mercies to himself was purposefully _not_ counting the days.  That meant he didn’t how many rounds it had been so far.  

Regardless, he was positive the coffee machine was winning.

He had learned few things.  One: Percolator was more than just a word the Swedish Chef used.  Two: He needed to give the coffee industry more credit, there were probably more moving parts in this thing than your average nuclear bomb.  Three: Mrs. Lancaster’s coffee pot had a personal grudge against him.

Tinkering with the water circulation _always_ resulted in a mess.   Like, to the level he'd be worried about what he had unleashed upon Punxsutawney, if it wasn't for the inevitable reset button.

Phil thought for sure he had it when he discovered the valve inside the downspout hose.  The finished product looekd so promising.  The result was sludge so rancid even the Clevelands wouldn’t drink it.

He gritted his teeth.  “I’m not getting any older.”  Time to get back to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil missed the internet.  Not just because it would have been a way to cry for help - he’d given up on that a long time ago.  He just really, _really_ wished he had access to Google, that magical oracle of the way of all things.  Getting a coffee maker to work shouldn’t be this hard.  Fuck, he could go on Amazon and buy out every model in stock and it probably wouldn’t be this hard.  

Amazon.  He really missed Amazon.

He sighed as he got out the screwdriver and pliers.  It wasn’t even about the coffee any more.  He just wanted to accomplish _something_ , to have at least the illusion that he was getting somewhere.  

Phil had finally come to the conclusion that there was something wrong with the electrical current.  He sighed and plugged the cord into the wall.  If he could just test what it was doing with the-

He knew the instant his hand brushed against the wires, because it hurt like a motherfucker.  He had two thoughts simultaneously.  The first was that there was no way this tiny device should carry that much power.

Everything went dark before Phil could articulate his second thought.

 

* * *

 

When Phil opened his eyes, he was greeted with one of his least favorite sights: the green ceilings Punxsutawney General Hospital.   _Nothing_ good could ever come of this place.

“Phil!” A familiar feminine voice.   

Correct that, the laws of physics had been defied.  Something good was here.  Phil focused his vision - Rita.  And shit, she had that panicked, worried look again.  That crease in her nose was only supposed to show up when she smiled, not when she was obviously thinking about the karmic implications of letting a co-worker  _die_ on her first remote broadcast.  God dammit, didn’t this whole thing start because he was sick of being the one who caused that?

“What...day is it…” he stammered.  

“February 2nd.”  Rita’s voice was anxious.

His right hand still hurt, still burned.  Thank God he didn't have to use this hand for much longer, because it wasn't going to be doing much for a while.  Which meant the loop hadn’t even reset yet.  That just wasn’t fair.  “I wasn’t even trying that time,” he mumbled under his breath.

Rita’s eyes were fierce and bright.  “Just what the hell were you doing, Phil Connors?  Touching a live wire that’s plugged in?  Do you have a death wish?”

Phil considered that “Live wire” and “coffee maker” were probably not two terms that should go together.  That all felt secondary to the look on Rita’s face.  So many iterations of February 2nd, and Phil still didn’t understand how she could care when he did something like this, accidental or not.  After all, he knew what he was.  And yet Rita was the kind of person who _would_ care, regardless.  

It was enough to make you wonder if the world tilted on a different axis than you’d always thought.

So instead Phil just smiled ruefully.  “Would you believe me if I said I just really, _really_ wanted to make a good cup of coffee?”

Rita eyed him suspiciously.  “Well, I would say you’re eccentric at best.” She licked her lips.  “And kind of dumb.  But...I’ve seen worse.  Do you even _know_ anything about electronics?”

She always did know how to read him like an open book, how to call him on his shit.  Thank God someone in this tiny universe still could.  “Not really.”

“Well, you know that waitress at the diner?  She was telling me this morning about how she moonlights as an electrician.  If you really wanted to know, you could ask her.”

 

* * *

 

 

Doris had to be among the wonders of the world.  Really, what kind of wait staff would take time off of their shift to give you a personalized lesson in electrical wiring?  He should try to do _something_ for her one of these February 2nds.

In the meantime, he had a very hard earned reward to claim.

“Just a minute, Mrs. Lancaster,” Phil called from the kitchen.  He patted the coffee maker gently.  After all, they were practically old friends now.

Phil slowly breathed in the scent.  Exhaled.  Brought the cup to his lips.

It tasted a little like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Groundhog Day fanfiction is taking over my life. I'm on Tumblr at matataku-hoshi.tumblr.com.


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